


Skin Deep

by Vintar



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dick Jokes, M/M, The Gannon Cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintar/pseuds/Vintar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a member of the Enclave marks you in more ways than one. </p><p>Written a million years ago for the Fallout kink meme, for the prompt "Arcade, being an Enclave boy, has one of the last circumcised penises. So, awkward <i>what-is-wrong-with-your-penis?</i> moments tend to arise when things get hot and steamy for him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

It had all been going well, which in hindsight was a clear sign that something terrible was going to happen. In Arcade's experience, things tended to spiral downwards. Like the time that he'd found his first love (for a given value of love; it had mostly involved nocturnal gropes in dingy brahmin sheds, which love songs tended not to mention that often), only to have the NCR appear in the town the next day, unfairly hot on their trail. Like every patient of his that had looked like they were improving, only to go straight back to scoring on the streets. Like how he'd come to New Vegas brimming over with ideas of how to help the strip's Followers, only to end up in charge of a cactus.

Arcade suddenly had a clear vision of himself some time in the future, facing yet another crisis. Future-him would shake his head and mutter _well, at least this isn't as bad as the time that my cock exposed me as being a part of a fascist organisation_.

He looked down at it. _You traitor_ , he thought. 

It declined to answer.

Boone had been surprisingly into it--into _him_ \-- before that, those beat-up hands getting under Arcade's clothing with a military efficiency that Arcade could not bring himself to mind. Then the Arcade's pants had come down, and Boone had frozen.

On the plus side, it didn't seem like the tense, full-body freeze of someone about to bust in someone's teeth, haul someone out before the military as a war criminal, or, even worse, start shouting. Arcade had been around Boone for long enough to realise that sometimes he simply diverted all of his resources to thinking really, really hard, like he was waiting for all of the wheels in the slot machine of his brain to fall into place of their own volition and show him the answer.

Still, Arcade wished that Boone wouldn't do it while staring coldly at his privates. He wondered if straight men ever had to put up with this sort of thing. He guessed not, based on the way that the human race had not yet gone extinct.

"I realise it's impressive, but I'm sure your mother taught you that staring is rude. Perhaps not in these particular specific circumstances, granted, but I'm sure you can generalise." Unable to stop himself even in the face of uncertain death, he added with a leer, "Then again, she probably said something about not talking with your mouth full, too, and you're more than welcome to put that one to the test."

Boone, some decision apparently reached, ignored Arcade's babbling and settled for looking him in the eyes, his face unexpectedly sincere. "I hope you got the bastards that did it."

In the few moments before Boone's words sunk in, it was Arcade's turn to stare. He let out a completely inappropriate bark of laughter, head swimming a little with the promise of a future where he might not face discovery and, more importantly, where he might even still be able to get into Boone's pants.

"No, no," he managed, and pulled Boone back towards him until his fit of snickering had subsided into something manageable and Boone had stopped being rigid with confused offence. "It's nothing like that. Thank you for the concern, but no. No trauma, no dramatic torture scenes." He sighed happily as Boone gingerly took him in hand, investigating the scar carefully with blunt fingertips. "The most traumatic thing that's ever happened to it was one gentleman who insisted on calling it the Gannon Cannon."

"It hurt?"

"My sense of good taste, yes."

"You know what I mean."

"It's perfectly fine-- though it won't be if you keep doing that-- no, if you _stop_ doing that I'll give that stockpile of snack cakes you keep stashed away at the 38 to Rex. No, it doesn't hurt. My parents were into tradition, not pain." 

As the temperature in the room plummeted, Arcade wondered if it wouldn't have been kinder if they'd taken the tip of his tongue instead. It seemed to get him into just as much trouble as his cock. Even more, honestly, which was either incredibly unfair or incredibly depressing.

"Your family." If someone had mixed Arcade's best dreams and worst nightmares together, it would have looked something like Boone at that moment: a touchy NCR killing machine with amazing arms interrogating him about his family while jerking him off. 

There must have been a way to describe the practice without either dropping inadvertent breadcrumbs back to the Enclave or just plain coming off as a crazy sadist, but they all appeared to have deserted Arcade in his time of need. "It's a custom back out West. For hygiene," he managed weakly.

Boone remained thoroughly unimpressed. "A bar of soap's always done for me."

Arcade folded his arms and stood up straight, gathering all the dignity he could muster. In the circumstances, it was not a lot. His height was imposing from a distance, but he suspected that when they were this close it just meant that Boone could see up his nose. The dramatic effect was further ruined by the way that Boone still had him in hand, the beginning of a smirk on his face. Arcade decided to deal with it the way he knew best: glib deflection, followed by a minor panic attack much later when no-one was looking.

"If you're going to impugn the noble customs of my people--"

"Some custom. It still work?"

Arcade blinked, bemused, as Boone started toying idly with parts of him that quite enjoyed being idly toyed with. "I-- yes, yes, it works. Rather well, from what I've heard. If you want a demonstration--"

"Your family." Arcade fancied that he was able to keep up with the best of them, but the speed at which Boone jumped topics nearly gave him whiplash. "Got a question about that." His hands stilled, and Boone looked up at him again, dead serious.

 _This is it_ , Arcade thought, with a start. _He's figured it out, and you're going to have to bolt. If he blocks the door, go out the window (with your pants, if possible; you may be fleeing for your life, but no-one needs to see that). Get out of Freeside, leg it to one of those places you automatically keep tabs on in the back of your head. Go somewhere where no-one knows your face (fewer and fewer places these days, thank you very much, Courier Six). Make a new life all over again. Easy._

Arcade's worst-case scenarios were never far from his mind. It didn't make them any easier.

Instead of accusing Arcade of anything, Boone dropped to his knees in front of him. It was not an action that featured in any of Arcade's worst-case scenarios, though over the past few weeks it had featured rather profusely in certain other thought experiments. Boone looked up at him, that quiet smirk on his face. "If I do this, are they going to come after my dick, too?"

When Arcade had reassured him as to the safety of his person (his laughter only slightly maniacal), Boone got to demonstrating some of that military efficiency again, and for a while Arcade forgot about worst-case scenarios altogether.

 

("I figure," Boone said afterwards, surprisingly relaxed, "that since you're missing parts, that only makes it half queer. Maybe three-quarters."

When he went in for breakfast the next day, Arcade had fed precisely three-quarters of his snack cakes to Rex.)


End file.
